“Dustin Pode is a private citizen who isn’t residing or working in our jurisdiction. He hasn’t been implicated. “You don’t have any real evidence on Cecil Pode; you have nothing on Dustin Pode. A tail is out of the question. Takes up too much manpower.”

“I have a gut feeling that Dustin Pode is involved.”

“You’re a good intuitive cop, Pete, but I can’t authorize men based on your hunches.”

“At least send Hollander out to talk to Dustin Pode about his father. Maybe Dustin will implicate Daddy in something naughty,” Decker said. “Mike’s got a light load this morning.”

“You can talk to Dustin Pode,” said Morrison. “I’ve no problem with that.”

Decker stalled a moment. He didn’t want to tell Morrison about his Jack Cohen alias just yet. “Let Hollander handle it. He’s good with these broker types. He loves to play dumb.”

“Fine. Hollander goes out for a one-shot deal. But scratch any idea about a tail.” Morrison lit a cigarette. “You’ve done a good job, Pete. Taken a dead case and breathed some life into it. Just don’t go overboard. And don’t do anything dumb-ass with this Dustin Pode. I don’t want a citizen’s harassment complaint slapped on this division. God knows LAPD gets enough fabricated shit from the papers. Let’s not give them something real to work with.”

Decker nodded.

“Now what is this about getting another juvey into the Donaldson halfway house?”

“I owe someone a favor.”

Morrison didn’t press it.

“Okay,” he said. “Start the paperwork.”

“Thanks, Captain.”

“When are you taking the lieutenant’s exam?”

“I thought maybe next year.”

“Why not this year?”

“I haven’t had a hell of a lot of time to study.”

“You’re a lawyer, Pete. After the bar, the exam should be a snap.”

Decker shrugged. He didn’t have time to study because the yeshiva courses were occupying all his free time—or lack thereof. But he couldn’t tell the captain that.

Morrison looked disapproving, but said nothing. He stood up and walked away without a word. Decker rubbed his eyes.

Man, he was tired.

The phone rang.

“Decker.”

“It’s the illustrious Patsy Lee Newford, better known as the redheaded superspy.”

“Patsy Lee Newford?”

“Hey Decker, that’s a boss name in Indiana.” She laughed, sounding like a soprano jackhammer.

“What do you have for me, Kiki?”

“Pode took a hike.”

“Know where he went?”

“Uh uh. But he was one of the major distributors of snuff films ’round these parts.”

“Yeah,” Decker said. “I found that out.”

A little too late.

“Have any other names of snuff men?” he asked.

“Nope. I’ll see what I can do.”

“Lie low, Kiki. This is getting messy. You’ve done enough. I’m working on paying you back like we discussed.”

She was silent.

“You there?” he asked.

“Yeah. I can’t believe you’re coming through.”